


and every breath we drew was hallelujah

by thefudge



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, grief fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: “I want to go with you.”
Relationships: Aang/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 71





	and every breath we drew was hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> a person i love very much has recently died, and this is my way of coping with grief because i needed to write something. this is dedicated to him.   
> thank you for reading.  
> (and yes, hallelujah will always be my zukaang song)

His breath has echo.

The air he breathes, he weaves, he makes and remakes - it has a sound that stays with you and multiplies you.

So when Zuko places his fingers there, at the base of the Avatar's throat, he feels he is holding down the only power that matters, he feels he is touching the center of the world. And this has a music of its own. 

The cold cuts through him, like the heights of a cliff above the clouds. And yet, he also feels buried in the depths of a hollow under the ground. The spirit world denies him understanding.

Aang puts his hand over his hand.

“What do you want to do?”

Zuko shuts his eyes. He wants to squeeze the air out of his lungs and breathe it in.

“I want to go with you.”

The Avatar’s voice is wistful. “You can’t. And I wouldn’t want you to.”

Zuko runs his thumb over the ridges of his throat. “Why not? I wouldn’t stand in your way. I’d be quiet. I’d follow you like a shadow.”

And Aang knows he means it, because Zuko has always lived his life in such a way.

“You’ve been a shadow long enough,” the Avatar tells him, cupping his cheek. “Go into the sun, Zuko. I will be there.”

“You won’t. Not like this.”

“Like this,” Aang insists. “Always like this.”

And he leans forward until his forehead touches Zuko’s forehead.

“Now, breathe,” the Avatar instructs, and opens his mouth.

Zuko opens his own mouth. He receives him.

The air is sharp and clean and full of light. It has a music of its own.

Zuko opens his eyes. The room is dark, the window darker. There is no moon in the sky. But the air is sweet.

He reaches forward. The other side of the bed is still empty, yet warm. He lunges for that warmth. He embraces the absence. Death is a never-ending embrace. He lies like that until dawn.

When the first rays of sun creep through the window, he rises mechanically from the bed.

He steps out on the terrace and stands in the golden beam, harsh and full of reality. Its warmth is nothing like Aang’s warmth.

And yet – there is something in the promise of morning, in the selfish break of dawn, something like a smile.

The world is a mischief, just as Aang would want it.

Zuko wipes the tears away. He stands in the sun. He knows he is watching.


End file.
